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Article of the website marlene adlit, created on: 12/23/2010 3:44:35 PM

By: MARLENE ADLIT | Published: 23/12/2010 15:46 | |

The Apple Garden

(from the novel, Follow the Stars Home by Luaane Rice)


On the island in the sea,

Northward of the Gulf Streams flow,

That is where we came to be,

In the spot where apples grow.


Trees of green and walls of stone

Fill the land that I can see

Anne played there till she was grown

Tell me, what will be for me?


Back at home, my mother cries

My father lives beneath the waves

Tell me, does the one who tries

To love, succeed at being brave?


You see, Im just an apple girl

And someone came and picked me up

She polished me, just like a pearl

And set me in a loving cup.


In apple gardens, let me be

Beneath the stars and wind and sky

The constellation in the tree

Ill love my own life by and by.



          I have read this novel more than four years ago. I might say that at the very instant that I comprehend its content the message struck me. The poem represents profundity. I cannot fathom how a twelve-year-old girl could experience such malady. All of us has different story. It is a matter of how we perceive life in a positive perspective in order for us to attain an optimum level of living.

        Indeed each of us is an apple. There are good fruits which people care so much about. Perhaps, they brought it and sold in the market, and others which fell on the ground and left unnoticed. Those discriminated apples are usually the ones that are likely to be rotten. Rotten apples are usually the ones that no one cares and no one will surely like.

        Just like the girl in the poem my life had been a wretched. Like her I had been an apple girl. I know how it felt like to be lying on the ground, waiting to be noticed and picked up. Although I was on in years, I still felt vulnerable, as if I could fall way back down if I didnt take care of myself.

Like the withered apples I have grown to be the wisest. Eventually, the dried and unloved apples will be a remnant of a culturally made art. Though rotten and withered, someone happen to shape them into a brightly sparkling treasure.

        And for now I am waiting for that someone to come and pick me up, the one that could polish me and turn me into a precious pearl and someone that would set me in a loving cup.




(To those who have the same experience, I hope that I was able to inspire you. Always keep a good fight.)